


The Treasure of Sheba

by rainey13



Category: White Collar
Genre: Fandom Trumps Hate 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:49:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25098673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainey13/pseuds/rainey13
Summary: The desert sands hide many treasures, and one winds up as a New York White Collar case.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 22
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2020





	1. Sands of Time

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Notes: _The Rub’ al Khali and Iram of the Pillars are real, as is the Frankincense  
>  Trail (though I took a bit of creative license with the timeline). The Treasure of Sheba,  
> however, is a figment of my imagination. Written for Fandom Trumps Hate on AO3 –  
> the winning bidder requested the return of Raquel LaRoque._

**Prologue**

_Rub' al Khali_

_The Empty Quarter_

Overhead, the velvety blackness of the midnight sky stretched on and on, touching the horizon on all sides, unobstructed. Millions of tiny dots of light sparkled, more stars than most people could even imagine seeing at one time. But with no artificial city lights to obstruct the view, the far-away suns – some burned out eons ago – sent their fiery radiance out into the galaxy.

The men gathered near Shisr, in the Dhofar Governorate of Oman, didn’t take time to appreciate the celestial view. Instead, they moved over the drifting sand silently, their desert vehicles left a safe distance away. There was little sound here except the slight swish of sand as the breeze moved it steadily across the plain. An occasional bleat signaled the nearby presence of camels, but the men were downwind so their scent shouldn’t carry to alarm the animals, and thus alert the few villagers who farmed the oasis area.

It wouldn’t end well for anyone who discovered them this night.

The man in the lead used a state of the art compass to guide their way unerringly to the target spot near the greater excavation site. To the naked eye the needle pointing their direction would have been barely visible in just the starlight, but with the night vision gear they all wore – the best Saudi oil money could buy – the pointer was as clear as a neon sign.

They’d made this secretive trek several times before, stealing away with riches that belonged to the Omani people. And if their informant amongst the archaeological crew was correct, their reward for the furtive visit tonight would be even greater.

Leaving the main dig site slightly to their east, the group of six men made their way over a small rise of sand to where several small red flags had been placed. The flags signaled that the site was of no interest for the scientists – an area that had been explored but not excavated. It lay just underneath the old fortress – hundreds of years old, but not the ancient site the archaeologists were seeking.

It also marked the spot where the informant put the treasures that would never show up on any official documentation of the dig. The workers were searched each day upon leaving the site, but so far no one had noticed a nondescript worker who sometimes liked to take his lunch and mid-day break away from the group. He’d bury his finds in the loose sand, and notify the leader of the retrieval crew.

Reaching the chosen location, the men paused for a long moment, listening for any sign that their presence had been detected. But the silence of the surrounding desert assured them they were alone.

They quickly dropped their desert robes, worn only in case they had been spotted on the way to Shisr. Underneath, they wore more practical one-piece work wear, suitable for digging. Each man kept his Ghutrah on, the scarf-like apparel pulled over his face to keep from inhaling sand as they worked.

High winds during the day had piled loose sand high against the old fortress wall, but a brief scan with the enhanced ground penetrating radar unit one of the men had carried under his robes pinpointed their target.

~~~~~~~~~~

It had taken over four hours, which was longer than planned, to remove enough sand to find their prize – the heavy winds the previous day had mounded more of the sediment than usual. The storm had also delayed their recovery expedition by a day. Now they had to hurry a bit to clear the area before the villagers arose to start their day.

As the ancient chest was lifted carefully out of the hole, the men gathered around. The old wood looked rickety in places, but the sturdy tanned leather straps held it together, preserved by the dry desert conditions.

There was no need to speak to determine who among them would open the chest. The man who had brought them together, commanded them with his mere presence, would do the honors.

Despite the innate greed that brought all of them together, no one would cross his family.

The other men settled in the sand, slipping off their scarves and drinking from the water they’d brought. It would replenish them for the trek back across the desert, now with a heavier load.

The prince removed his own scarf, though not to drink; he wanted nothing to interfere with his vision. He settled his long frame in front of the chest, running his hands along the wood almost lovingly. And why not – this prize had long eluded him.

Tugging the leather ties gently, he took his time. After all, while he was most interested in the contents, the actual chest could also prove valuable. The crest engraved on the top matched the description of what they had been seeking, and after a brief struggle with the ties, they came loose, and he lifted off the lid…

“Madha tafiel?”

The softly spoken question caught all of them off-guard, their heads snapping up to find a young boy, barely a teen, watching them, asking what they were doing.

From previous surveillance of the tiny farming community, they knew the boy was called Najib, and he tended the camels during the day. And they had seen him reverently care for the small community’s prayer rugs.

Najib, noble, hero – a lofty name for a young boy.

One he would now, regrettably, never grow into; he had seen their faces.

Even as the men rose silently to their feet, the prince did acknowledge that regret to himself; it was never easy to kill innocents, especially devout Muslims as he knew this boy to be.

But greed had overtaken religion in importance in his life.

With a barely perceptible flick of his hand, he signaled to Zaki, the largest of the men. In a flash, there was a wicked looking curved knife in the man’s hand.

“Kuna mae allah,” the prince whispered, as blood leached into the sand. _Go with god…_


	2. New York

“Caffrey!”

Neal looked up from the _absolutely riveting_ mail fraud case file he’d been perusing, and found Reese Hughes standing outside the conference room door – giving him the old two-finger summons.

He acknowledged the command with a nod, and got to his feet, reaching back to grab his favorite pen – the Quantico pen he’d won from Peter during an earlier case – and started toward the stairs. If put on the spot, it helped to have something in his hands – and Hughes was definitely _not_ a fan of his rubber band ball.

Neal offered simple shrugs to the inquiring glances Jones and Diana sent his way; he didn’t know what this was about, or why the two senior agents on the White Collar team weren’t being included.

It was peculiar, he mused as he walked. He’d seen Josh Bryson, an Assistant United States Attorney he’d met with Peter a few times, come into the office almost an hour ago. Bryson, Hughes, and Peter had moved into the conference room with some folders, closing the door decisively. No one else had been invited in…

Until now.

Force of habit led Neal to examine his recent activities as he climbed the stairs. The whole Nazi/Russian treasure incident, including Elizabeth’s kidnapping, was still far too close in the rearview mirror for comfort, but the case they had just closed concerning Manhattan Prep seemed to have helped put him back on a better footing with Peter. And the agent _had_ closed out the Keller case, allowing the other thief to take ‘credit’ for recovering the stolen items.

Neal and Elizabeth had also settled things between them – a sometimes uncomfortable, but ultimately necessary, conversation.

And since Neal been trying to tread _very_ carefully recently, he was coming up blank on any other indiscretions of his own that might be the reason for this meeting.

Hughes was waiting at the door, and Neal pasted his most confident look on his face as he passed the senior agent and entered the room. Peter was standing at the end of the table nearest the video screen, though there was nothing currently projected. Bryson was seated next to him on the right, his back to the windows.

Peter pointed to a chair on his left, and Neal slipped into the seat, nodding a greeting to Josh as Hughes closed the door behind him. All three men had serious expressions, so this wasn’t a party, but it was hard to tell anything else from their body language.

Neal watched as Hughes took a seat at the other end of the table, and then he turned back to Peter. “Is this a new case?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Peter opened one of the folders in front of him. “Did you happen to catch this story in the paper the other day?”

Neal looked down at the printout Peter passed him. The headline read: OMANI GOVERNMENT SEEKS ANSWERS IN DEATH OF MINISTER’S NEPHEW AT ARCHAEOLOGICAL SITE.

“I remember seeing the headline,” Neal replied. “I didn’t read all of the detail.” As he recalled it had been on probably page seven or eight, along with a number of other brief articles about international stories. “How does a death in Oman tie into White Collar crime in New York?”

“We have an informant,” Josh supplied. “There may be a connection between this death and an attempt to sell some ancient antiquities thought to have come from Oman on the black market.”

“ _May_ be.” The qualifier hadn’t escaped Neal’s attention. “You’re not sure?”

Bryson sighed, Hughes drummed his fingers on table angrily, and Peter just looked annoyed.

“Do you need me to meet with the informant,” Neal asked, trying to read the room. There was something that none of the men were happy to tell him… “Who _is_ the informant?”

That elicited another sigh before the AUSA pulled a form from his own folder and slid it across the table toward Neal. “I believe you’re familiar with her. Raquel LaRoque.”

“Raquel.” The name came out as little more than a whisper as he looked at the familiar face staring back at him from a booking form.

Peter finally sat down at the table, leaning in toward Neal. “One thing before we go any further, Neal, and it’s important. Are you _sure_ you didn’t know her before the Egyptian scarab case?”

Neal looked up, meeting Peter’s eyes. “Peter, no. I knew _of_ her, but we’d never met. That’s why she didn’t make me as Neal Caffrey until Keller started dropping hints.”

Peter seemed to consider that for a moment, then turned slightly toward Josh and nodded. The attorney took the cue to proceed. “The grand jury returned a bill of indictment a few days ago,” he said, pulling out more documents from his folder.

Neal glanced at the top sheet. “Wow,” he said softly. “That’s quite a list of charges.”

“That’s the way we usually work with grand juries,” Bryson applied. “We present all the evidence, all the possible charges.”

“I remember,” Neal muttered.

Peter growled one word in warning. “Neal!”

Neal returned his attention to Bryson. “I’m guessing something happened after the indictment was returned.”

Bryson nodded. “That was on Friday. Sunday night I got word that LaRoque and her lawyer wanted to see me Monday morning.”

“And she says she knows who killed the boy?” Neal tapped the indictment forms again. “In exchange for help with all of this.” He turned toward Peter. “Is this really a White Collar case?”

It was Hughes who replied. “Apparently, we’re in the middle of some delicate negotiations with Oman concerning a military exchange program. When they got wind of a possible New York connection, the Omanis made assistance with this part of the negotiations. And the State Department has made it our case.”

“All right.” That certainly explained the office’s assignment – it just didn’t explain _his_ involvement. “Did Raquel give you the name of someone I need to meet with? Or are there artifacts to authenticate?”

That elicited a deep sigh from Hughes, and a surprising answer from Bryson. “She says she has the details we need, but she’ll only talk to one person.”

“That would be you, Caffrey,” Hughes supplied.

“Me?” It wasn’t even worth trying to hide his surprise.

“Yes, you, Neal,” Peter replied. “Any idea why? Maybe something to do with that kiss she laid on you outside the interrogation room?”

Well, he couldn’t exactly tell Peter the full reason behind that... _‘Yes, Peter, because I let her know that I was holding onto that stolen scarab.’_ So he deflected _. “_ Yeah _, she_ kissed me.” He shrugged. “We hit it off pretty well, before Keller showed up.”

“Apparently,” Peter muttered, but he gestured for the conversation to continue.

Neal ignored the muttering and went on to his next question. “Raquel has been in Metro this whole rime?”

“Attempted murder of FBI agents,” Hughes growled. “Damn right she’s been locked up.”

It somehow didn’t seem to be the time to point out that Raquel had only tried to kill Keller, not the agents, so Neal moved on. “But this just happened ten days ago,” he said, pointing to the news story. “You really think she might have information related to the murder?”

“Josh got copies of the phone calls she’s made while at MCC,” Peter said. “They were short, and not obviously related, but our tech guys are taking a look now to see if there’s some pattern or code.” Peter took a deep breath and continued. “Neal, you’re sure you haven’t crossed paths with any of her associates?”

“Not that I know of. Well, except for Hale, and we know what happened to him.”

“Yes, we do,” Peter agreed.

“I can ask Mozzie,” Neal offered.

“When we’re done here,” Peter said, gesturing for the AUSA to continue.

“We think it’s possible that the contact was either conveyed by an associate to the attorney, or even directly to the lawyer himself.”

“And what do we know about this attorney?” Hughes asked.

Bryson consulted his notes. “Frank Reegan. He does have an interesting history of defending people involved in smuggling and/or fencing antiquities. But there’s nothing currently to indicate he’s ever been involved in the crimes himself.”

Peter was writing down the name. “We’ll take a closer look.”

“Until we have proof that LaRoque is making this all up, we need to proceed as if this information is golden,” Hughes said.

Bryson pulled one more sheet out of his folder. “LaRoque provided two words as a show of good faith – Iram and Sheba. Does that mean something to you?”

“Wow.” Neal pointed at the open laptop in front of Peter. “I’m sure you’ve already looked up Iram.”

Peter nodded and clicked the projector on, bringing up a map of the Arabian Peninsula. “The Pillars of Iram. an important trading center on the old Frankincense Trail.”

“At one time frankincense and myrrh were as valuable as gold, maybe even more so,” Neal said as he got up and walked closer to the screen. “The city had a few different names, but it was reported in the bible, the Quran, and other chronicles of the time. It was even immortalized in _The Thousand and One Arabian Nights_ by Habicht.” He traced a small circle on the map in southern Oman, using his pen as a pointer. “Right about here, part of the Rub' al Khali, the largest erd, or sand sea, on Earth.”

“Destroyed as divine retribution when the rulers got greedy,” Peter said.

“That’s one explanation,” Neal agreed, with only a slight roll of his eyes. “Scientifically, the city was built over a large limestone cavern. The geology provided the only persistent source of water in the area. But as the city grew, and the water was extracted, it weakened the limestone and the chamber collapsed.”

“A giant sinkhole,” Bryson supplied.

“Essentially,” Neal agreed. “The city was lost to time and sand. It wasn’t discovered again until the 1990s using satellite imaging to identify the old camel trails converging on the location. Even now, excavation is slow due to the winds and the shifting sand.”

“So we know where this Iram of the Pillars is,” Hughes said. “What about Sheba? I’m assuming there’s more than just the story related in the bible about the Queen of Sheba visiting King Solomon.”

“This is where it gets more into whispers,” Neal replied. “Historians aren’t even in agreement as to whether the Queen of Sheba actually existed, or was just a sort of composite character used to reinforce the stories. But for those who do accept her as real, there’s a split on whether Sheba actually refers to Yemen or Ethiopia.”

“Was this treasure something she lost on the way to visit King Solomon, or on the way back?” Peter asked.

“Neither, according to legend,” Neal replied. “The story goes that she had been so impressed by Solomon and his kingdom, that she wanted to thank him. She decided to send what was described as a ‘great treasure’ to him.”

“And do these whispers tell us what this treasure was?” Hughes asked.

“Not really,” Neal admitted. “If we assume that Sheba was actually Yemen, which has the most support among historians, then the major export at the time was the tree sap for the incense already moving along the trail.”

“Frankincense and myrrh,” Peter added.

“In high demand for perfume, incense, and burial rites,” Neal confirmed. “Tons of the essences moved north over the years. The southbound traffic was mostly spices brought to Gaza from the Far East, also gold items being crafted in present day Egypt. Later trading included items coming across the Mediterranean from Rome and Greece.”

“And if Sheba actually refers to Ethiopia?” Bryson asked.

“There were some unique types of wood – it could mean carvings. Copper was also found in that area, plus there’s speculation that the locals had traded with cultures farther south,” Neal confirmed. “Diamonds.”

That seemed to surprise the other men. “I didn’t think diamonds became a commodity until much later,” Hughes objected.

“It’s only rumor, legend,” Neal cautioned. “But actual diamonds are several hundred million years old, so it’s entirely possible that someone discovered some, even if they only believed they’d found pretty stones not seen elsewhere at the time.”

“I’m guessing this treasure never made it to Solomon,” Peter prompted.

“Again, according to whispered legend, the treasure was hijacked by bandits on the way north. They made it as far as Iram of the Pillars before word of the crime caught up and they were trapped by the security forces of the local ruler.”

“Must have been some security force if they couldn’t sneak out across all that sand,” Bryson suggested.

“At the time, the King had decreed it a capital offense to take camels off of the main trails,” Neal explained. “Trying to leave by any other route would have entailed that additional risk.”

“These guys took their incense security seriously,” Peter commented, a touch of approval in his voice.

“A lot of people have compared the security along the trail to that of modern day drug cartels,” Neal admitted. “And don’t forget, it wasn't just the incense headed north. The return caravans were just as important. It made the people running the route very rich.”

“Which gave these rich people incentive to control this shipment,” Hughes concluded. “Did they find it?”

Neal shook his head. “Not according to legend. But there’s no real record of what _did_ happen to it. One theory is that the bandits hid the treasure in Iram and then, for some reason, never got back to claim it.”

“So, it might have still been there when the city collapsed,” Peter summarized. ”Still, LaRoque’s expertise is Egyptology. Does it make sense that she’d be contacted about something like this?”

Neal turned back to the map, pointing just to the west of the landmass projected there. “Only the Red Sea separates the peninsula from Egypt, and with all of the trade going on, it’s very possible. I’m pretty sure there were some Arabian artifacts in her lab when I was there.”

“Let’s say this treasure does exist, and LaRoque can provide a lead,” Hughes said. “Is there something that would indicate this is associated with Sheba?”

Neal moved to the whiteboard and picked up a marker. “Legend says the treasure of Sheba will be marked with her symbol,” he said, starting to sketch. The picture that emerged showed two serpents intertwined to form a crown, the heads meeting at the front with a large stone in the middle. “Her actual crown was rumored to hold the largest emerald in existence at the time. And she used the crown to identify all of her correspondence.”

“So that will be one way to verify whether these artifacts are actually part of this treasure,” Bryson said.

“The age of the artifacts would also help identify them,” Neal added.

“And that might help identify a murderer,” Peter said. “Assuming any of Raquel’s story is true.”

Neal sat down at the table again. “If she’ll only speak to me, I guess there’s only one way to find out.”


	3. Visiting

It was all so distressingly familiar.

That was Neal’s overarching reaction to being at the Metropolitan Correctional Center. He’d spent enough time here, first when Peter had arrested him in that warehouse six years ago. And again after Fowler had framed him for stealing the pink diamond. 

Sure, it was different this time – he was walking in the front door, more or less voluntarily, and he wasn’t in chains. But he still had to work to maintain his mask of indifference as he endured the whole entry process of filling out the visitor form, going through the metal detector, and being patted down before finally being escorted past the security gates.

At least the presence of the AUSA and FBI had gotten them a private interview room.

He’d been required to leave his suit coat out front, which hardly seemed fair; Peter had been allowed to keep his when they’d met here. _Yeah, get over it Caffrey, there will always be different rules…_

Neal took a seat at the small table, straightening the cuffs on his shirtsleeves, studiously avoiding a glance at the two-way mirror off to his right. Instead, he kept his eyes on the other door – the one leading from the cell area. He was as ready as he could be for this. _Still, being without the suit coat felt like he was missing a piece of his personal armor in the middle of enemy territory…_  


The wait was either a few minutes, or a few hours; given the surroundings, it was hard to be sure. But then he heard the heavy lock disengaging. The door opened, Raquel was escorted into the room, and he stood in greeting.  


She looked tired, worn out – much different than their last encounter. Of course, he understood how incarceration could do that to someone. But she offered a decent rendition of a smile as she sat down across from him. “Hello, Neal.”

“Raquel.” He sat down again, holding her eyes with his own. “How are you doing?” he asked after the guard left the room.

That got a short laugh. “Oh, you know. Feasting like a queen, setting new fashion trends.”

He grinned. “Yeah, I wouldn’t count on Day-Glo orange becoming the standard during the next Fashion Week.”

“Oh, I’ll bet you pulled off the orange in grand style, Neal.”

He recoiled in his seat in mock horror. “No. No one looks good in that color.” He leaned forward again. “Why me, Raquel?”

“I meant it when I said we could do great things together.”

“Maybe another time and place,” Neal replied. His eyes narrowed at the odd smile she gave him…

Then he felt her foot running a trace up the inside of his leg.

He nodded toward the mirror. “You know we’re not really alone, right?”

Raquel gave that a theatrical sigh. “Unfortunately,” she all but purred. “And I intend to tell you all I know about the Omani treasure.” She held up her manacled hands. “But is this really necessary?”

Neal considered that for a moment, as her foot traced higher on his leg. _There were all sorts of dangers…_ Then he looked over at the mirror and shrugged.

It didn’t take long before the door opened again, and the same guard came in. She removed the cuffs, dropping the chains on the table with a decisive _thunk_ before leaving the room once more.

“All right, the chains are gone, and it’s just us.”

“And our audience,” Raquel countered as she stretched her hands toward him.

“And our audience,” Neal agreed, reaching out until their fingers met. “Now tell me about the treasure.”

“The seller is a long-time… _client_ of mine.”

“In other words, you’ve fenced items from him before.”

“Let’s just stick with client.”

Neal nodded his agreement; his job here was to find out about the current case, not try to get a confession from Raquel about other crimes.

“He contacted me before… this,” Raquel continued, pulling her hands away momentarily to gesture around the stark prison room. “He said he might have a lead on the Treasure of Sheba, and asked if I would be interested.”

“Purely for the sake of historical significance,” Neal suggested, taking her hands in his again.

“Of course!”

They let that obvious lie hang between them for a moment before Raquel continued. “Daood ibn Faruz al-Saud. He’s a Saudi Arabian prince.”

“Aren’t there like a couple hundred of those?” Neal asked. He tried to place the name, but came up blank.

“There are. But this one also happens to be an attaché at the Saudi Consulate here in New York.”

Now the pieces started to form a picture. “Diplomatic immunity,” Neal guessed. “He uses the diplomatic pouch to bring items into the country?” He had some experience with the abuse of that system.

“The diplomatic pouch part I can neither confirm nor deny. I’ve never asked.”

“But he’s the _client_ who contacted you.”

“Yes.”

“And said he’s found the Treasure of Sheba.”

“That’s what he claims.” Raquel gestured around her again. “I haven’t seen it myself, obviously.”

“Where did he find this treasure?”

“I haven’t had a chance to talk to him at any great length – there’s a rumor that phone calls here are recorded!”

“But if you had to guess…”

“He’s talked about Shisr before.”

“Where they believe Iram of the Pillars once stood.”

Raquel smiled. “I knew you’d understand the connection.”

“A boy was killed in Oman, at the dig near Shisr, and the authorities there believe whoever committed the last theft was responsible. Is Daood capable of that?” Neal asked.

“I have no personal knowledge of any killing,” Raquel cautioned. “But in my experience, Daood likes money. Everything else is secondary.”

Neal leaned back in his chair, considering what he’d heard – and trying to block out the fact that Raquel’s foot was still running up and down his leg. “He’ll have diplomatic immunity,” he finally said, voicing what he knew Peter and Josh were most likely saying in the observation room. “That does complicate taking him down.”

“I thought you liked complications.”

Given how high her foot had moved on his thigh, he was feeling lots of _complications_. “Can you set me up as a buyer to meet with him?”

“Maybe…” Raquel drew the single word out into a long purr. “My lawyer is interested in what kind of deal might be available if I could make that happen.”

“I gotta say, Raquel, your deal would have been much better if it just been about the stolen antiquities. But taking a shot at Keller, in front of a room full of FBI agents… That one’s going to be tougher.”

Raquel shrugged, looking down at her hands. “Six million dollars. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

And that brought up another danger – what if Bryson demanded the identity of who set up the hit as part of any deal? If the intermediary gave up his client… _Maybe he’d tell Mozzie to take a little vacation, away from New York – after asking about any other rumors on the Omani antiquities._ But he managed to keep his expression neutral. “And if the AUSA is willing to make a deal your lawyer approves?”

“Then I will tell you how I can get you in to meet Daood.”  
  



	4. Planning

“I don’t like it.”

Neal looked up from his doodling on a legal pad. “You’ve already said that, Peter.” _Many times…_

He wisely kept that last part to himself.

Peter just glared in response, and it was Bryson who finally spoke up. “I’m sure none of us actually _likes_ it, Peter. But the fact is that there’s a lot of political pressure to do something. My boss has been in touch with the Secretary of State, and they supported making the deal.”

The three of them were gathered once more in the White Collar conference room, discussing the outcome of Neal’s meeting with Raquel. After hours of phone calls, offers, and counter-offers, a deal had been negotiated, approved by Raquel and her lawyer, and now it was time to deal with the details of the current case.

Hughes had been in earlier, relaying the decision he’d received from Assistant Director Bancroft – make the plan offered by Raquel LaRoque happen.

And it _would_ happen, Neal was sure of it. But they needed to get past Peter’s objections to move forward.

“Peter, we don’t have a lot of options here,” he started.

“Aren’t you the one who says there’s always another way?” Peter countered. “I don’t like being pressured into something like this so quickly.”

“There is some urgency here, Peter,” Bryson pointed out.

Peter’s sigh spoke volumes. “I know. But letting LaRoque out just seems wrong, and risky.”

“Peter, she already has an invitation to the party at the Saudi consulate,” Neal pointed out. “She’ll take me as her plus-one. I’ll be on audio.”

“There must be another way she can get you a meeting with this al-Saud,” Peter argued.

“Maybe. But she already has this relationship set up, and an invite to an exclusive consulate party. Trying to set me up from scratch would take a while to build up the necessary trust for something of this nature, and that gives Daood more time to find out Raquel’s in jail. If that happens, he’s likely to pull back, hang onto the treasure, maybe find someplace else to fence it.”

Neal did his best not to flinch under the stare Peter fixed on him. “Or maybe you just want to go to a fancy consulate party with Raquel.”

Peter’s voice didn’t sound quite as strident as it had in his earlier arguments, and Neal took that as a good sign. “Peter, think about it. Where better to hide this stolen treasure than a consulate? It’s not like you can get a warrant and go search. This is our best chance to make an approach at an event where Daood will feel secure, and have a good chance of confirming if the stolen artifacts are genuine.”

"And what’s to keep LaRoque from getting to the consulate – literally foreign soil in the eyes of the law – and requesting asylum? Maybe she’ll sell you out as part of the deal.”

It was something Neal had considered himself, but he put all the confidence he could muster into his reply. “She gave me her word, Peter. I trust her.”

For a long moment, Neal wasn’t sure that had worked; trust wasn’t something that came easily to Special Agent Peter Burke, as he well knew.

Peter finally sighed, relenting. “All right.” And then, as if finally realizing how late it had become, he stood up. “We’ll bring the rest of the team into this in the morning, figure out how to cover the party.”

~~~~~~~~~~

After a frantic morning of phone calls, ideas tossed out, debated and either set aside for further discussion or dismissed as even crazier than the other concepts, they had the beginnings of an actual operational plan.

Peter finally called a lunch break so he could attend a conference call with Hughes, Bancroft and a representative from the State Department to make sure they were on board with the rough outline of the sting.

Neal took the opportunity to magnanimously offer to go to the local deli and pick up sandwiches for the team; it was also a chance to get out of the Federal building and connect with Mozzie.

Unfortunately, Mozzie’s street contacts had come up empty on any other chatter concerning the Treasure of Sheba. Of course, Mozzie had graciously offered to step in to fence the treasure should Neal want to liberate it from the Saudi consulate...

Neal’s counter-offer to that was to suggest that Mozzie make himself scarce for a while, just in case any questions about that six million dollars came up.

No one else was back yet when Neal got to the conference room. Peter had at least had the foresight to have some good coffee brought in, so Neal grabbed a cup, and set the sandwiches out at each place before starting on his own.

It was only a few minutes before the others started to file back in. Jones was first, mumbling a quick thanks as he nearly inhaled the first half of his lunch.

Blake came in next, dropping some rolled bundles in the middle of that table. “That’s everything Mr. Bryson was able to get on the plans for consulate.”

Peter walked in from his office just then. “That’ll help. I want to know every possible exit from that place.”

“We’ll want to set up some of the toys the tech guys were just showing me,” Jones added, starting to unroll the first blueprint. “I’m sure the Saudis have some defenses against electronic eavesdropping.”

Neal grabbed the next roll. “And you think you can break through that?”

“You better hope so,” Peter said. “Otherwise we won’t be able to monitor you and your date and get the confession you plan to obtain recorded.”

“If I take the eagle pen in addition to the watch, we’d still be recording,” Neal offered.

“That’s a good idea,” Peter agreed. “But I’d still feel better being able to hear everything real time, just in case there’s trouble.”

“Awwww, Peter, you care!” Neal teased.

Before Peter could confirm or deny, Diana came into the room. “I’m in!” she declared. “So you’ve got back up in there.”

Jones let out a low whistle. “Wow, an invite to a private consulate party. That’s some impressive pull!”

“That’s what a lifetime in the diplomatic service can do,” Diana said. “Turns out my father and the current Saudi ambassador in DC go way back.”

“That’s great, Diana!” Peter said. “You can be on comm too. That gives us another shot at catching Daood on audio with something incriminating.”

“You still can’t arrest him,” Neal pointed out. “Diplomatic immunity.”

“I know, “Peter agreed, resignation in his voice. “But State says that if we get Daood confessing to the murder, or catch him with any of this treasure from Shisr, they can use it to declare him persona non grata, and have him recalled.”

“Then the Saudis and the Omanis will have to work it out,” Diana said.

“The Saudis have a lot more power in the area,” Jones warned.

“But what if, somehow, the audio leaked out…” Neal started.

Peter held up his hand. “Let’s worry about _getting_ the audio first.” He turned to Diana. “Does your invitation include a plus one?”

“It does.”

“Good. Blake, you’ll attend with Diana.”

“Me?”

The younger agent seemed as surprised as Neal was. “You’re not going yourself,” he asked.

Peter sighed and shook his head. “I had some dealings with the Saudi consulate a few years ago,” he admitted. “Someone might recognize me.”

“So get your tux ready,” Diana told Blake.

“We might have something in the warehouse with all the confiscated goods,” Jones suggested.

“No.” Neal’s response was immediate and forceful. “This is a function at a foreign consulate, not some Podunk party.” He turned to Blake. “Don’t worry, I can hook you up with a good tailor so you get a tux that fits.”

“Thanks, Neal,” the younger agent replied. “Is it the same place you rent from?”

Neal shook his head, trying not to roll his eyes. “No. I don’t rent,” he said. “I own my tuxedos.”

“Tuxedos,” Diana said. “As in plural?”

“You of all people should know that there are different types of formal events,” Neal replied.

“Sure, what you wear to con wealthy old ladies out of their heirloom jewelry is probably totally different than what’s worn to case the Louvre,” Peter muttered.

Neal ignored the heavy sarcasm he was pretty sure he heard in those words and turned the discussion back to safer ground – the case at hand. “You’ll be in the van then?”

Peter nodded. “With Jones.”

“I’ll be monitoring for any interference in the audio,” Jones supplied. “And if you make a deal, I’ll take care of the fake money transfer.”

“As long as Daood doesn’t figure out it’s fake while we’re still in there,” Neal said.

“He won’t,” Peter confirmed. “We have done this a time or two, you know.”

“Mmmmmmm.” Neal nodded. “Just remember that Daood has Saudi oil money behind whatever transfer protocol he’s using.”

“We’ll be ready,” Jones assured him.

“In the meantime,” Diana continued, “the evidence team found the necklace you picked out from the photos of what was seized from Raquel’s loft.” She slid a small cloth-wrapped package across the table.

Neal reached out to pull it closer, slowly unwrapping it. Inside, there was a gold chain, capped by a bird with wings spread wide. “Nekhbet, the Egyptian white vulture goddess and winged guardian of Egypt and the Pharaoh.” He nodded his approval. “Definitely something Raquel would wear to a function like this.”

Peter reached over to pull the necklace toward him. “Great. We’ll have the tech guys work on a replica that we can build a passive tracker into.”

“You know, I could do the copy…” Neal started to suggest.

“I’d feel better if the FBI did it,” Peter responded.

Given recent events concerning a different treasure, Neal decided not to object outright. “Well, if they need any help,” he offered.

“Yes, we’ll let you know,” Peter agreed. “We didn’t seize any of her clothing. When we’re done here, you and Diana head over to the loft and pick out something to wear to one of these events.” He turned to Diana. “Make sure to log whatever you take.”

“You got it, boss.”

Peter consulted the legal pad in front of him and moved to his next topic. “Now, about your alias…”

“Gary Rydell,” Neal replied immediately.

That got a frown from Peter. “Why Rydell?”

“Well, he’s a smuggler, for one thing,” Neal pointed out. “That gives him something in common to talk to Daood about.”

“Are you sure that alias wasn’t burned in the Lawrence case?” Jones asked.

Neal shook his head. “Mozzie keeps an ear to the ground about things like that. There’s been no chatter about Gary not being anything other than what he claims to be.” He turned back to Peter. “Plus, you’ve still been monitoring Gary’s email.”

“We have,” Peter agreed, albeit somewhat reluctantly judging by his tone. “There have been a few nibbles, but we had ‘Gary’ reply that he was out of the country. One recent message that might be worth pursuing after this case.”

“Gary stands ready to help,” Neal assured him, using his standard con man grin; the one that never fooled Peter anyway.

“Oh, I’m sure,” Peter said, sighing. “What else do you need to be ready?”

Neal considered that for a moment. “Some time with Raquel, to make sure our stories match. Can the Marshals bring her by earlier on Saturday?”

Peter was already shaking his head before Neal finished the question. “No. I don’t want her out of custody any longer than absolutely necessary.”

“Peter, you know she wasn’t shooting at you or your agents,” Neal started.

“Are you familiar with the term collateral damage?” Peter shot back. “Bullets start flying and a lot of bad things can happen.”

Honestly, Neal figured there were a lot more bullets flying, with a lot more opportunity for collateral damage, from all of the agents shooting at a fleeing Matthew Keller. But he knew that dropping the attempted murder of an FBI agent charge was one of the hardest parts of Raquel’s deal for the agent to accept.

And he knew he was never going to win this argument, so he’d let it drop and pick his battles.

As if reading Neal’s capitulation, Peter sighed, calming down. “I’ll have Josh arrange another visitor pass for you at Metro.”

 _Fantastic. Just the place he wanted to spend more time…_ “That’ll work,” he said.

“Good,” Peter said. He stood up and started unrolling the remaining blueprints. “Let’s get started on the consulate layout…”


	5. Preparation

It was shortly after 4 o’clock on Saturday afternoon when the taxi pulled up in front of the Federal building. Neal paid the driver and stepped out into the bright sun.

The sidewalks were busy, with people moving in all directions, most of them in casual attire and appearing to be in no hurry. And why not – a gorgeous weekend day, with the promise of a clear evening sky ahead of them. It was a far cry from the workday, when men and women in power suits crowded the walkways, always in a hurry.

The plaza in front of the Federal building, however, was almost deserted. A few people were perched on the benches and steps, taking a break to study a map or a subway timetable. But inside, there would normally be only a token staff to triage urgent requests, far from the hundreds of agents and support personnel who occupied the space during the week.

Today, of course, the core White Collar team would be present, prepping for the event at the Saudi consulate.

He shifted his garment bag over his shoulder and made his way inside, nodding a greeting to the woman at the security desk. He used his building card to get through the turnstile and headed for the elevators.

Stepping off on the twenty-first floor, he took a moment to appreciate the quiet. During the week there were always agents or clerks moving around, phones ringing, calls being handled.

Not that the floor was deserted, of course. He could already see Peter in his office, the agent’s ugly yellow “lucky” tie glaringly obvious. _One of these days that tie might just have to disappear…_

_Accidentally, of course._

Once he stepped through the double doors, Neal could see Diana helping Blake adjust his tie in the conference room. The young agent cleaned up pretty well, Neal noted, and Diana…

Well, she was stunning in a deep magenta gown with a side slit that went well up her hip.

Neal laid the garment bag with his tuxedo carefully over the back of his chair and started up the stairs, carrying a small box. Peter was on the phone, with his office door closed, so he went directly to the conference room. “Looks like Sully did a good job,” he said, addressing Blake.

“I’ve never had a real fitting before,” the agent replied. “But my girlfriend already said we’ll have to find other places to go where I can dress up.”

“Sounds like a good plan.” He set the box down and pulled out a boutonnière with a small white chrysanthemum surrounded by a spray of baby’s breath. “Wait until she sees a photo with the flower,” he added, guiding the accoutrement into place.

Finished, he turned to Diana, pulling out a corsage with a large white Asiatic lily in the center. “I went with white since I didn’t know what color gown you’d have. But this is really going to pop against that color. May I?”

She nodded her assent, pushing her gently curled hair back from the single shoulder on the gown.

He finished pinning the corsage to her gown and stepped back, gesturing to the box. “Raquel and I will have blue, to match that gown we picked out.” He motioned toward the chair at the far end of the table, where a pale blue silk gown was waiting.

“The Marshals should have her here in about an hour,” Diana offered.

Peter’s voice could still be heard from his office, though it was hard to make out any specific words through the closed door. “Anything new for tonight?” Neal asked.

Diana held up her wrist, showing an intricately tooled leather band. “Just this,” she said. “The tech boys came up with another toy. This will record conversations, but not transmit, so we don’t have to worry about the scanners.”

“Pulling out all the stops on this party,” Neal said. He’d already seen the dress watch that would adorn his wrist on the table, along with the eagle pen.

“Speaking of scans, we did confirm that the consulate brought in extra machines for tonight,” she continued. “Everyone will be scanned for metal and, presumably, active transmitting devices.”

“But they’re still not banning cell phones, right?”

“That’s the latest word we have,” she confirmed. “But the scanners do mean Blake and I will be unarmed.”

“I’ve seen some of your moves, Diana,” Neal replied. “You’re never really unarmed.”

That got a smile. “And don’t you forget it!”

Neal raised his hands in surrender. “Never!” He took one more look at Peter’s still-closed door, and then turned for the stairs. “I’ll go get changed.”

~~~~~~~~~~

By the time Neal walked back into the bullpen, he could see that Peter had moved into the conference room and was busy going over something with Diana and Blake. The two agents who had been assigned to act as limo drivers had joined them.

Neal laid his garment bag, now containing his casual clothes, over the chair at his desk. Giving his tie a gentle tug to make sure it was straight, he was just starting toward the stairs when Jones came in.

“Gotta see the toys the tech boys came up with,” the agent said, indicating the box he carried.

Neal gestured up toward the conference room. “Lead the way.”

He followed Jones up the stairs, staying close as Jones put the box on the table. The first item the agent pulled out was wrapped in cloth, and he set it in front of Peter.

Peter started to pull back the wrapping. “The necklace?”

Jones nodded. “With the passive tracking chip, as requested.” He pulled a small tube out of the box. “And the glue you requested.”

Neal looked up from where the jewelry was being revealed. “You’re going to _glue_ the necklace on Raquel?”

“Well, glue the ends together,” Peter acknowledged as he revealed the gold-colored chain and bird. “I don’t want to make it easy to ditch the jewelry. This is the only way we have to know where she is.”

“Except that I’ll be with her,” Neal pointed out. “And you’ll know where I am,” he added, strapping the dressy tracking watch to his wrist. “Plus, Diana and Blake will be there.”

“They may not be able to follow if al-Saud takes you somewhere to see this treasure,” Peter pointed out. He lifted the necklace. “I’ll feel better with a back-up plan.”

“Mmmmmm.” Neal held out his hand. “May I?” He took the necklace from Peter, holding it up to the light and turning it to examine the detail. “Not… bad.”

Peter turned to face him, in typical Agent Burke form, hands firmly on hips. “Oh, I suppose you could have done better.”

Neal replied simply by raising an eyebrow, and holding out the necklace, handling it gingerly with two fingers. “Let’s just hope Daood doesn’t look too closely.”

Peter snatched the necklace back and laid it on the table. “I guess you’ll have to use that silver tongue of yours. Or hope that Raquel is enough of a distraction.”

Jones started to pull out a couple of the other items provided by the tech team, but Neal’s attention was caught by activity down below.

The Marshals had just arrived with Raquel.

Peter had noticed too. “Diana, you’ll take charge of getting LaRoque ready. Take Larkin with you,” he added, indicating the other female agent in the room.

“You got it, boss,” Diana confirmed, gathering up the gown and other clothing items. She headed out of the room, with Larkin closely following.

Peter turned his attention back to Jones, but Neal kept his eyes on the bullpen. For just a moment, Raquel looked up, and their eyes met.

Then she disappeared with Diana and Larkin, headed for the restrooms.


	6. Gala

The limo inched forward, sitting in line with numerous others just like it as they approached the Saudi consulate.

In the driver’s seat, Larkin navigated the arrival traffic like she drove a limo every day. Her confidence behind the wheel was inspiring, and gave Neal a chance to relax a bit.

And think.

He leaned back in the plush seat, getting into character. Obviously, Gary Rydell had dealt with any number of important people, and wouldn’t be nervous when he stepped out of the car.

Of course, Gary had never dealt with a situation like this before, where his date for the evening had so much incentive to leave him in the dust – or sell him out to al-Saud, which might well leave him as literal dust.

Despite the confidence he’d portrayed to Peter, he was all too aware that the alliance with Raquel was fraught with danger. All it would take was an asylum offer from her _client_ and she might figure that was a better deal then what Bryson had offered.

Of course, it was possible she’d insist on making Gary part of the deal – which would leave him with an interesting decision to make.

Or, she could follow his example from the mob café and whisper “FBI raid” in Daood’s ear.

And then he considered the feel of her hand in his, and thought maybe everything would work out according to plan. Her fingers were rubbing gently against his palm and his wrist; definitely more comfortable than her previous attention to his inner thigh.

The car moved forward again, and he could see the plaza ahead now, with bustling doormen rushing to greet each car.

“It’s exciting, isn’t it,” Raquel said, leaning in to whisper the words in his ear.

“A good con always is,” Neal admitted.

“And is everything tonight a con?” Raquel asked.

Neal sucked in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Maybe you should tell me.” He wondered how much of the conversation Larkin was tracking, along with her driving duties. He wouldn’t activate the watch or the eagle pen until they were past the scanners.

Raquel was silent for a moment, long enough to get Neal’s attention. “I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about asking Daood for asylum,” she admitted, her voice very low. “But I don’t think I’d do well as a woman in Saudi Arabia, with the religious restrictions.”

“It would still be a way out of New York,” Neal pointed out.

“Suppose I took that opportunity, but then left Saudi Arabia,” Raquel mused. “What are the odds that the FBI would ignore that?”

“Agent Burke can be a tad stubborn about the ones that get away,” Neal acknowledged. “As I have good reason to know.”

It was Raquel’s turn to sigh. “I’ve had a lot of time to think recently,” she started.

“I have good reason to understand that thinking time too.”

“Did you always plan to be a criminal genius?”

Neal huffed out a combination of a laugh and a scoff. “I grew up wanting to be a cop,” he admitted, lowering his voice even further. Peter was the only one who knew anything about that, and even he had only heard the barest minimum.

“A cop! Well, that was unexpected.” Fortunately, Raquel was keeping her voice just as soft. “What was the turning point?”

Neal took a moment to consider how much to tell her; this was territory he hadn’t even covered with Peter. “Something happened when I turned eighteen,” he hedged. “I wound up on the streets with virtually no money, no plan, not even a high school diploma. So it started out as survival, then one thing led to another – and I was good at it.”

Raquel was silent for a moment, though he felt her fingers tighten around his. “We’re not so different,” she all but whispered. “I was going to make the next great breakthrough in understanding ancient civilizations.”

“But?”

“Do you know how much a graduate degree costs?”

“So when questionable artifacts came across your desk…”

“Just enough to pay off the debt,” she replied. “At first.”

“It got under your skin.”

Raquel nodded, leaning in closer against his shoulder. “That’s not ever who I wanted to be. I don’t know what opportunities there will be for an ancient civilizations expert with a record, but I’m going to find out.”

Neal was all too unsure of what his future held – possible commutation or not, but he nodded, letting his head fall against hers. “Then let’s enjoy this party, and take Daood al-Saud down.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~~ ~ ~

The consulate staff had gone all out for the party, starting with the plush red carpet they stepped out onto from the limousine. Neal pasted a confident smile on his face as he got out, giving his jacket a single tug to resettle it against his hips as he reached back in to give Raquel a hand.

With her gown slit as high as Diana’s, what appeared first was one long leg, followed by the rest of her, the silky blue gown rippling as she stood. She hooked her arm through his and they started toward the doors.

Neal deliberately kept their pace slow, calm. All the while his eyes were scanning the entry area, noting the location of cameras and the number of security personnel – potentially useful information in case a hasty exit was needed. Most of the guards weren’t hard to identify. In fact, they all appeared to have come from the same mold – large men, with telltale coiled cords running from collar to ear, wearing black suits cut loose to allow room for the handguns that they carried in shoulder holsters. All in all, not a group he’d want to tussle with.

_Diana could probably take them…_

There would undoubtedly be more security inside, probably less obvious, but no less deadly, he was sure.

They queued up near the door, waiting a turn to go through the metal scanners. Just as he and Raquel were about to step inside, he saw Diana and Blake stepping onto the red carpet.

Just inside the door, more of the mini-mountain guards manned the scanners and checked the personal items the guests placed in the offered baskets.

Neal placed his – _Gary’s_ – wallet, cell phone, and keys into one of the baskets, waiting as Raquel did the same with her clutch.

The next part was one area he had some concerns about – the necklace would set off the metal scanner, and if they had to explain away the super glue…

But all around them there were muted beeps as the jewels adorning the women – and men – set off the detectors. A quick manual scan and they were through.

The glitz was even heavier once past all of the security. The sheer amount of bling adorning the attendees was enough to get Neal’s pulse elevated, and he was willing to bet most of it was authentic, unlike the Nekhbet necklace Raquel wore. The good thing was, with all of the serious jewels on display, it was unlikely that the somewhat less than stellar reproduction would draw much attention.

Waiters in formal white attire circulated with trays laden with crystal-cut champagne flutes filled with bubbly, and Neal snagged two of them, handing one off to Raquel. “Lots of alcohol for the consulate of a Muslim country that doesn’t condone drinking.”

Raquel laughed, lifting the glass to her polished lips. “Rules are for the little people.”

Neal took a sip from his own glass; as expected, it was a fine vintage. And sipping gave him the perfect cover for checking his surroundings.

Most of the men were in tuxedoes, with small pockets here and there wearing traditional dress robes. While there were a few chaste hijabs in evidence, mostly among the serving staff, the women were mostly attired in gowns that rivaled the best of the soirees he’d attended in Monaco or Cannes.

By sheer carat weight, the jewels adoring both men and women may well have surpassed even the glitziest of parties he had attended.

_The power of Saudi oil money…_

He leaned in toward Raquel. “Do you see Daood yet?”

She shook her head. “Not yet.”

“What’s considered fashionably late for a Saudi attaché?”

She laughed. “Probably whatever time he wants.” She paused for a sip of champagne. “He was on time when we did business previously. But we never met at the consulate before.”

“No consulate official celebrating a baby with his fifth wife before?”

“Not that I’m aware of. Also, nothing of the significance of the Treasure of Sheba.”

“Assuming that it’s real.”

“Yes, assuming that,” she agreed. “But while we wait, I’m hungry.”

Raquel headed for the buffet tables, and Neal followed close behind; despite her seemingly heartfelt desire stated in the limo to turn over a new leaf, he couldn’t afford to lose track of her, at least until she made the introduction to Daood.

Fortunately, the chefs had prepared enough food to keep them occupied for hours, if not days. The sheer variety of the canapes offered was amazing, and all laid out on silver, gold, or crystal platters. In the middle of it all there was an ice carving, as tall as he was, depicting the Saudi seal of two date palms and crossed swords.

“I’m eating for the next six years,” Raquel said as he stepped up next to her. She already had a plate started.

“You’ll develop a taste for gourmet ramen noodles,” Neal assured her.

“Gourmet? Sure…”

“I’ll get you the commissary-approved recipe.” But for now, he zeroed in on the caviar; Ossetra gold was his guess, piled on rounds of khubz, a thin pita style bread he was familiar with from previous travels.

_Travels he’d never discussed with Peter – and probably never would…_

One bite, as the buttery roe popped in his mouth, confirmed it.

Before he could take a second bite, Raquel nudged his arm. “There, by the elevators.”

Turning slowly, Neal looked in that direction. A tall man, impeccably attired in a midnight blue tuxedo, was greeting a small group of people. Every bit of his posture screamed “regal” even though he wore no obvious symbol of being from the royal lineage.

Beyond that, he looked just like the photo of Daood al-Saud that the State Department had provided.

“Looks like he has admirers.”

Raquel smiled. “Always.”

“Well, let’s not look too anxious,” Neal said, taking her arm and steering them toward the nearest windows.

They passed Diana and Blake on the way. “Elevators,” Neal whispered as they went by, getting a nod from Diana in acknowledgement.

A number of small, high tables had been placed near the windows, and Raquel led the way toward one that was empty. Neal set his plate down, grabbed a couple flutes of fresh champagne from one of the ubiquitous waiters, and went back to the table, taking a position so he could keep an eye on the elevator area.

They spent the next few minutes eating and drinking. During that time, Daood had made his way as far as the food, still surrounded by people.

Finally, he appeared to break free and headed toward their table.

“Showtime,” Neal whispered.

“Born for it,” Raquel replied, smiling as she turned around. “Daood!”

“My darling Raquel!” Daood engulfed her in a hug, culminating with a very European air kiss to each cheek. “You are as lovely as ever.”

“And you’re as big a flirt as ever,” she countered.

He laughed. “Guilty!”

Neal only hoped they could actually get a confession of guilt regarding the murder as easily. He took a step forward to make sure Raquel wasn’t forgetting him.

“We have private business to discuss,” Daood said dismissively. “Your _friend_ can stay and eat. If he’d like, I can make arrangements for someone to keep him company.”

“My friend is part of our business this time,” Raquel said.

“We have never involved others.” Daood took half a step back, and Neal forced himself to maintain a neutral expression.

Raquel stepped forward. “Daood, you said yourself that this was something extra special, and time was short. Sadly, most of my money is tied up in another deal right now.”

For the first time, Daood turned to partially face Neal. “So he is a money man?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Neal took another step. “I’m in the moving business.”

“He’s the best at moving things,” Raquel supplied. “And he can put together the financing.”

Daood still looked skeptical, so Neal took the initiative. “Gary Rydell,” he said, holding out his hand. _If Daood was really a player in Middle Eastern antiquities, the name might…_

Sure enough, the other man’s eyes widened, and he began to smile. “Ah, Gary Rydell. I believe you helped a fried of mine, Saleh al-Farsi, with a certain… sensitive shipment.” He paused for effect. “Out of the Port of Cairo, as I recall.”

Neal smiled in return. “Saleh did ask me to help move something,” he agreed. “But it was the Port of Muscat. The Gulf of Oman promised fewer obstacles than the Mediterranean… under the unique circumstances.”

Daood laughed. “Of course! I was in error.”

Neal recognized the test for what it was, and he paused as well, taking a sip of champagne… even as he pictured Peter scribbling notes in the van. “I did fly the shipment from Cairo to Muscat, crossing your country – including the Rub’ al Khali. I understand you have a special interest in the erg.”

Daood snagged a glass of champagne from a waiter and took a sip before answering. “I do,” he replied. “Many people see only the sand. But those of us in the know understand the treasures the sand hides.” Another sip. “Tell me, Gary, have you ever actually stepped on those sands?”

Neal shook his head. “I’ve never had the pleasure.”

“Then we shall go one day, you and I.”

“I’d like that,” Neal assured him. “I have a particular interest in Iram of the Pillars, as I understand you do as well.”

“I certainly do.” Daood raised his glass to Raquel and Neal. “And you’ll soon see the latest treasure.”

“That’s why we’re here,” Raquel said.

“Of course!” Daood drained his glass, set it on the table, and gestured toward a narrow corridor. “Shall we?”


	7. Treasure Time

“With the archeological dig, as well as the local villagers, I’m amazed you’re able to recover items like this from Shisr,” Neal started.

They had just exited a private elevator that deposited them on a quiet floor. The hallway was lined with ornate doors; probably the offices of the main Saudi officials. Daood stopped in front of one of the doors, extracted a key from the inside pocket of his tuxedo jacket, and unlocked it, gesturing for Neal and Raquel to precede him into the room.

Daood waved a hand dismissively as he followed them into the room. “The scientists are excited if they find a shard of ancient pottery or fossilized camel dung,” he said as he closed the door.

Neal took a moment to look around before going further in the conversation. They had entered a large office, with an oversized, ornately carved wooden desk straight ahead. Several exquisite tapestries hung on the walls and he took time to study them as he walked around the room. “Gorgeous work.”

“Some of the finest my country has to offer,” Daood agreed. He opened a cabinet near the door revealing a refrigerator, from which he pulled a bottle of champagne.

Neal had paused by a large map of the Arabian Peninsula posted behind the desk. He reached out, his finger circling Shisr. “I thought I read that there was a small farming village near the oasis. You haven’t had trouble with the locals when you take delivery?”

“Peasants!” Daood spat the word out as if it tasted bad. “They’re of no consequence.”

“Still, an inconvenience if you’re confronted.” Neal didn’t want to push too hard and make Daood suspicious, but if felt like they were so close…

“Then I have my men make an example,” Daood replied. “Just as I did on this trip.”

“Legend has it that blood was spilled gathering the Treasure of Sheba,” Raquel said.

“Old blood, new blood. Treasures are often bloody.” Daood popped the cork on the bottle, quickly stepping back as some of the champagne bubbled out. “Bloody, but worthy of celebration,” he added as he refilled their glasses.

Neal raised his fine crystal flute. “To a treasure worthy of celebrating.”

The crystal made a fine tinkling sound as they clicked the glasses together in a toast.

“Gary, you really must go with me to the desert sometime!” Daood declared, with a hearty slap to Neal’s shoulder for good measure. “Many people see only sand…”

Neal shook his hand to get rid of the droplets of champagne that had splattered on his skin. “The true adventurer sees what the sand hides.”

Daood grinned. “Exactly!”

“I would definitely look forward to such an adventure,” Neal assured him. “But perhaps we could see the current treasure now?”

Daood’s grin widened and he set his glass down on the desk, then went over to one of the tapestries, pulling it aside to reveal a wall safe.

 _Not even a very secure one_ , Neal mused as he watched Daood input the combination. _It wouldn’t have taken much longer to crack…_

As Daood pulled the safe door open, Neal stepped closer to the desk, smiling at Raquel as she came up next to him. He could feel the excitement in her bearing – excitement he was feeling himself. It didn’t matter that this was an FBI case, and that he wouldn’t personally be keeping the treasure. There was still something intrinsically exhilarating about seeing something that had been hidden away for centuries.

Daood had pulled a large cloth bundle out of the safe, and from the way he carried it, there was obviously some weight to it.

Neal reached over to move a few items on top of the desk as Daood brought the bundle closer, setting it on the surface with a flourish.

As much as he wanted to be the one to reveal the treasure underneath, Neal took a step back, gesturing for Raquel to do the honors. After all, they wouldn’t be here without her prior connection to the Saudi prince.

She stepped up, reaching out to grasp the cloth at the corners where it was knotted, quickly freeing the ends and letting the soft material fall away.

Neal heard her soft gasp as they both laid eyes on the treasure of Sheba; he couldn’t be totally sure he hadn’t gasped with her.

The chest was fairly small; maybe twenty inches per side, Neal estimated. But the wood it was made of, such a dark brown it nearly appeared black, was polished, the shine retained after centuries of being cocooned in the sand.

Raquel leaned closer. “Ebony,” she whispered. “The most expensive wood in the world.”

Neal nodded slowly. “But fairly common in the time of Sheba, especially in western Africa.”

“The Frankincense Trail wasn’t the only trade route,” Raquel said, continuing her study of the box.

For his part, Neal’s attention was on the top of the box. The wood was beautiful, but… “The crest of Sheba,” he said, almost reverently, as his hand traced the outline above the adornment. It depicted the two twined snakes, one done in fine gold, the other in copper. Each serpent had teardrop eyes of emeralds, and between them they held a magnificent green stone, sparkling and clear – by size alone it would rival the largest emeralds he was aware of.

Daood smiled, almost like a proud father. “Magnificent, yes?”

“Yes,” Neal and Raquel agreed in unison.

The prince reached over, undoing the leather ties. “Wait until you see the rest,” he said, lifting the lid and pulling the desk lamp closer.

The light sparkled on more emeralds inside, and Raquel pulled out two smaller crests, one with snakes carved out of ebony, the other with a pair of copper serpents. Both crests included emerald eyes.

Next were a number of copper medallions, some with gold inlay, others with emeralds, all with intricately hammered patterns in the metal.

And near the bottom…

Neal pulled one of the crystal stones out, turning it against the light. “Diamonds.”

Raquel had pulled out a handful of stones. “Before anyone knew what they were,” she added softly.

Neal extracted a loupe from his pocket and leaned in toward the light.

“Ah, Gary, did you expect diamonds?” Daood asked.

“Expect? No. I just like to be prepared.” He spun the diamond to see the other side. “These are amazingly clear quality.”

“ _Excellent_ quality,” Daood insisted. “Worthy of an excellent price, yes?”

Neal took the time to examine two more stones before replying. “I’m sure we can work something out.” _The code phrase that he had confirmed the authenticity of what Daood was offering…_

Daood clapped his hands in celebration. “Then let us make a deal!” He reached for a monogrammed notepad on the desk, using a silver pen with ornate scrolling and inset gems to scribble something on the top page. “I think this would be fair,” he said, sliding the page across the desk.

Neal intercepted the piece of paper as it threatened to go over the edge. He looked at the figure written there – well within what Jones was prepared to handle as a faux money transfer.

Of course, Gary Rydell would never agree to the first offer.

He tipped the paper toward Raquel, and she played her part by giving a brief shake of her head.

“Daood, you know we can’t pay full price as the middle men,” Neal said. “Plus, if someone was killed as part of the recovery…”

“Bah!” Daood waved that off impatiently. “An insignificant shepherd boy!”

“Still blood on the treasure, Daood,” Raquel said. “You know there’s still fallout from the blood diamonds.”

“She’s right,” Neal agreed, reaching for the pen. “I’m thinking more like this.” He scribbled a number on the paper and pushed it back toward Daood.

The Saudi attaché scowled, but reached over to take the pen from Neal’s hand, adding a third figure to the page. “A compromise then,” he said, sliding it over.

Raquel took it, and made a show of pursing her lips and shrugging before handing it over.

The number was actually quite reasonable for the quality of the diamonds and other items, but Neal took his time before responding, as if debating another counteroffer. If he’d been doing this on his own, he probably would have haggled a bit more, but the assignment required making this deal.

“Give me a moment,” he finally said, extracting his phone from his pocket and stepping toward the window.

Behind him, he heard Daood offering Raquel more champagne while he texted “Manny” – Jones’ cover name – with the financial information.

It only took a few seconds for a reply: STANDING BY TO TRANSFER.

Neal walked back toward the desk, a victorious smile on his face. He held out the phone toward Daood. “Just needs your banking information.”

Daood clapped like a child at a carnival. He took the phone and typed, then handed the phone back.

“Check your account,” Neal instructed.

The Saudi was already pulling a small tablet from a desk drawer, typing in commands. Neal took the liberty of refilling their glasses while they waited.

It wasn’t long before Daood was smiling. He looked up from the screen and lifted his glass. “To a successful deal, and an ongoing partnership.”

Neal and Raquel both lifted their glasses, the fine crystal tinkling as the rims clicked. “A partnership,” Neal agreed.

They drained the champagne in celebration before Neal brought them back to the present. “We can’t really carry the treasure out the front door as it is,” he pointed out.

Daood nodded, moving toward the corner of the room behind his desk. “I considered this,” he said, coming back with a silver security case on wheels.

“You’re always prepared, Daood,” Raquel said. “Something I appreciate about you.”

Daood smiled at the compliment. “As you know, dear Raquel, it is something I pride myself on.”

Neal took the case, opening the lid. He reached for the treasure, pulling the cloth up carefully before lifting the bundle.

“Daood, there’s just one more thing.”

Raquel’s words caused him to pause momentarily in the transfer, before recovering. _Was this when she was going to sell him out after all…_

“What is it, my dear?”

She lifted the empty bottle from the desk. “Would you have another bottle of this excellent champagne? We have so much to celebrate.”

Neal let out the breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding, listening absently as Daood agreed and retrieved the beverage from the cooler. “For you, my dear. Though of course there is no reason to rush away. The party still goes on.”

“That’s so kind, Daood,” she replied, and Neal felt her step up next to him.

“It is,” he agreed, settling the treasure in the case and closing the lid. “But I’m sure you understand that, even as you hand the treasure off, we still have a lot of work to do.”

“Of course,” Daood agreed, sighing. “And we have our desert adventure to look forward to!”

“Of course,” Neal echoed. He held out his hand. “A pleasure to do business with you, Daood.”

“And you, Gary,” the Saudi agreed with a hearty shake. He hugged Raquel, then turned toward the door. “Come, I will show you the private way out.”  
  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the van, Peter listened as Daood al Saud led Neal and Raquel to a back exit, then turned to Jones. “Did you get it? All of the audio?”

Jones nodded, still focused on his equipment. “We got it, Peter. The tech guys will clean it up, but we have plenty to send to the State Department.”

Peter nodded in relief. “All right, let’s just get Neal and LaRoque out of there. Send Larkin back to the consulate.


	8. Farewell

The private elevator deposited them on a quiet lower level. Daood had apparently called ahead, because they encountered no problems with the security guards stationed near the doors. The guards silently led them to a ramp that deposited them on a quiet side street next to the consulate.

Neal pulled the wheeled case behind him toward the corner of the building. From there, he could see the main street where all of the arrivals had occurred.

He turned to Raquel. “Good job.”

She smiled, holding up the bottle of champagne. “Admit it, Neal, you thought I was going to ask for asylum after all.”

He gave a single nod. “The thought crossed my mind.”

“Crossed my mind too,” Raquel admitted. “But I really wouldn’t do well under Saudi law.”

Neal smiled, reaching to brush the hair away from her face. “No, you wouldn’t. Nothing should hide this face.”

Her hand reached for his, holding it against her cheek. “Ever the silver tongue.”

“Just the truth,” he countered, tensing as her hand found his inner thigh.

“You could prove it,” she whispered, her voice almost a purr.

“A quickie in the alley, Raquel?” He carefully, but firmly, removed her hand. “Is that really what you want?”

She sighed, very dramatically, as she took a half step back. “Six years!”

Neal smiled, closing that half step again. He clicked the recording on the watch off, and depressed the top of the eagle pen. “What if that scarab could provide you with a nest egg for when you get out?”

Her eyes sparkled in interest. “You have a way to fence it”?

“No, it’s still too hot. But it turns out the Egyptian government is offering a substantial reward for the return of the stolen antiquities.”

“And you have a way…”

“I’m working on a safe way for someone to return it and collect the reward.”

Raquel’s arms were suddenly around his neck, her lips on his. When she finally pulled back, she said, “We really could have done amazing things together.”

Neal smiled, nodding. “Probably.”

She sighed. “If it wasn’t for Matthew Keller putting me on the FBI’s radar…”

It was probably against FBI rules to share the information, but Neal found he didn’t care. “If it helps, Keller is in a Russian prison.”

“Really?”

“Really. And he won’t be getting out any time soon.”

Raquel seemed to consider that for a moment, and then nodded. “Good. And when you can return the scarab?”

“I’ll set your share aside. You trust your attorney, right?”

“Almost as much as I trust you.”

Neal smiled, squeezing her hand. “Then I’ll let him know the details when it’s done.”

“You won’t come and tell me yourself?”

“I’m on probation, Raquel,” he said gently. “The only reason I was approved to see you this last week was because of the case.”

She sighed once more. “It’s going to be a _very long_ six years.”

Neal glanced up toward the main street, watching as Larkin got out of a limo at the curb. “Our carriage awaits, Cinderella,” he said, holding out his hand. “Ready?”

“If you were really Prince Charming, you’d be carrying me away to live happily ever after,” Raquel complained, finally taking his hand. “Let’s go,” she said, then held up the champagne. “But we’re still drinking this in the limo.”

Neal grinned. “Absolutely,” he agreed.

~~~~~~~~~~

Neal walked slowly out of the conference room, folding his tie neatly as he moved. He’d already shed the tracking watch and the eagle pen, and signed his life away that the security case he had turned over to Agent Larkin was the true treasure, the complete treasure, nothing but the treasure.

He leaned against the railing overlooking the bullpen. Raquel was near the door, with Diana and two Marshals. The witching hour had obviously struck – gone was the silk gown and (fake) Nekhbet necklace, replaced by prison orange. She looked smaller somehow, and he wondered absently if the color had had the same effect when people looked at him.

He felt someone come up beside him, mirroring his pose, leaning against the railing.

“She’ll be okay, you know,” Peter said.

Neal nodded, without any great conviction. “She fulfilled her part of the deal, right?”

Peter nodded. “That’s what I’ll be reporting to Josh on Monday morning.”

Raquel looked up just then, her eyes meeting his. She gave him a small smile, and a wave truncated by the shackles from her wrists to her waist. Neal nodded in response, a poor excuse for a good-bye, but they’d already had their private moment.

Both men watched silently as she was led out of the office, and then into an elevator.

Diana came up the stairs toward them, carrying the dress and shoes Raquel had worn. “Paperwork for the transfer is done,” she reported, pausing to lean against Neal’s shoulder and remove her own heels. She wiggled her toes, sighing in contentment. “That’s so much better. Why are men’s dress shoes so much more practical?”

Neal shrugged. He was playing with fire, but he couldn’t help it. “Just lucky, I guess!”

“Next time there’s a party, _you_ get to wear the heels,” she countered, swatting at his arm. “Luck,” she grumbled.

“Sounds fair to me,” Peter offered.

“You’re both comedians,” Neal replied, making a show of rubbing at his arm.

Diana just rolled her eyes. “I’ll get the property paperwork ready,” she said, heading back into the conference room.

“Thanks, Diana,” Peter said, then resumed his pose leaning on the railing. The two men were silent for a long moment. “So,” Peter finally started, drawing out the word. “Saleh and Gulf of Oman. Anything you’d like to share?”

Neal pretended to consider the question, then shook his head. “No, not really.” Noticing Peter gearing up for more questions, he continued. “It was a job, a long time ago. No one died, and it was well outside of your jurisdiction.”

Peter just nodded, seeming to accept that… for now anyway. “What about al Saud? Do you think he had more artifacts at the consulate?”

This time Neal actually did consider his answer before speaking. “I don’t really think so. From his actions, and from what Raquel said about their past dealings, when he gets ahold of something like this, he wants to move it as quickly as possible.”

“Still, I’m afraid you won’t be going on a desert vacation with him, once the money disappears from his account.”

“Probably not,” Neal agreed with a shrug. “Gary always preferred fast sports cars to camels anyway.”

“Think that alias is blown?”

“Probably depends on how busy Daood is fending off the Omanis. I’ll make sure Mozzie listens for rumors.”

“In the ether?”

Neal grinned. “Exactly.”

“And what about Raquel?” Peter pressed. “Think there are more genuine artifacts yet to be discovered amongst her collection?”

“Things she hadn’t moved yet?” Neal shrugged. “Maybe. We’d have to examine each piece.”

“It’s all in evidence now,” Peter said. “Things got a little busy there after we closed that case.”

Neal just nodded – _busy_ was certainly one way to put it. “She wants to go straight when she gets out.”

“Raquel?”

“That’s what she told me.”

“Think she can do it?”

Neal shrugged, sighing. “It won’t be easy to find a job in her specialty with a record,” he admitted. “But yes, if she wants to, she can do it.” _Especially with a little financial nest egg as a back-up…_

Peter nodded, seeming to think about that for a moment before softly voicing one more question. “What about you?”

_Ah, the question of the hour…_ But Neal knew that, after copious amounts of champagne, he was in no position to talk about the commutation hearing or future plans that evening. “Me?” He shrugged. “It was a long day, and I’m tired. I just want to go home, grab a glass of wine, and unwind.”

Fortunately, Peter seemed willing to let the question slide.

_For now…_

“I have about an hour’s worth of paperwork to finish before I can leave,” Peter offered. “If you want to wait, I’ll give you a lift.”

Neal shook his head. “Thanks, but I’ll grab a cab,” he said, heading for the stairs.

“I’m going to need your report on Monday morning,” Peter called after him.

Neal lifted a hand in acknowledgement. “Monday by noon,” he promised.

He could still feel Peter’s eyes on his back as he stopped by his desk to collect the garment bag. But then he noted movement out of the corner of his eye, and turned to see the agent going back into the conference room.

He briefly considered changing out of the tux before heading home. Then again, his dress shoes were _practical_ , and the sooner he got home, the sooner he could have that glass of wine.

_And think about that unanswered question – what did he want for his future. Maybe the desert sands were hiding that answer too…_


End file.
